


The One-Eyed Snake and Other Olde Tales

by Manuscriptor



Category: High Hopes Low Rolls (Web Series)
Genre: Multi, My First Work in This Fandom, but I do know how to write, so I have never played D&D, so there's that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-18 08:51:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18117443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manuscriptor/pseuds/Manuscriptor
Summary: Some adventurers have discovered Ava Green's smutty book in the depths of a dungeon and interpret the party in the only way they know how. Thinking that the book's contents are real, everyone falls in love with who they think High Hopes are.[updates will probably be slow as I wait for more canon]





	1. Introduction

Who are the High Hopes? Not many people know. Not many people will ever know. The only reason their name still floats around taverns and passes from lips to lips is the manuscripts dug up and rescued from a long abandoned dungeon.

An honest-to-god dungeon.

The adventurer mentioned something about chains and manacles, old-fashion torture devices, and new-fashion less-torture devices. The stone walls dripped with condensation and other things. The doors were all locked and the chests were stuffed with treasure and bounty. Sadly, only the papers survived and were brought to the surface. It was these papers that told the story of High Hopes.

So who were High Hopes?

Gods, of course.

And gods _fucked_.

Gods were also flawed and beautiful. They were both human and divine, untouchable and yet so alive that humans flocked in droves to touch them. To experience their power and majesty. To cower in the presence of beings so breathtaking and awe-inspiring. Gods that could answer prayers and perform miracles. Gods that were generous and kind. Gods that were angry and jealous. Gods that were everything that gods should be from the smallest to the largest, magic or no, title and patron saints be damned.

And gods _fucked_.

The manuscripts that were rescued were proof enough for that. Description after description, chapter after chapter, line after line—all portraying their exploits and adventures from the bedroom and beyond. Detailed. Saved. Cherished. And now, they would be preserved throughout all of time.

They would be displayed in museums and to crowds. They became quick artifacts not necessarily imbued with magickal power but definitely viewed as talismans and tokens. Did anyone view the High Hopes as patron deities? Maybe not publically, but prayers were always whispered quietly and personally, and if a certain spell took on the color of magic that happened to coincide with a High Hopes member? Well, no one asked such personal questions.

But even among gods there must a hierarchy.

A god among gods, if you will.

Even in a divine world, a being with majesty and poise is treasured. Even gods have faults and failings, but there is always one being that rises above the rest. One who climbs through the ranks. One who is untouchable in mind and body, whose magic is of another kind and whose kindness is like a magic.

Gods fuck, but not all gods fuck up.

Well, all gods don't fuck. That should be unspoken but should also probably be included. Gods fuck and don't fuck. Gods fuck, and the ones that fuck usually fuck up, and the ones that don’t fuck usually don’t fuck up.

Simple.

Understand?

Perhaps not.

High Hopes _fucked_ , and therefore, they also fucked up. All of them, except one.

Well, perhaps it is wrong to assign divine characteristics to one person, to elevate them above others. That never really leads to anything good. The manuscripts recovered from the dungeon only record so much information and so little of it focuses on any one member. We see their mistakes and their successes and their failures. We get to see their relationships, their attempts at love, their struggling for something more in life.

We see beauty.

And to assume than anyone is above that is a bit foolish.

So saying that all but one fucked up is wrong. Because they all fucked up.

Probably.

See, the manuscripts were not extensive and inclusive of everything that went on within the group. They just told simple, raunchy tales about a small, raunchy group. We can only speculate what the rest of their adventures were like. Perhaps more documents would be found eventually and more stories could be told. For now, the masses could only satisfy themselves with what they had and search the dungeons for more.

Their stories were consumed by millions, whispered to millions of others, and passed from hand to hand and heart to heart.

High Hopes became quick favorites in the lives of many, each and every one wanting more and more of their favorite deities. Perhaps prayers were prayed, and perhaps candles were lit in vigils. Nobody complained because the stories of High Hopes _gave_ people hope. They inspired hundreds, letting people know that anyone could _get it_ and get it good.

They also inspired magic and stories and adventures unique to the people that took them. Dozens of parties stepped forward after reading the manuscripts, not all taking the same, large-scale adventures but each stepping forward with the inspiration.

Some adventures were as simple as saving neighborhood cats from trees and returning them to their homes. Other adventures were in new dungeons all their own, earning treasure and finding magickal artifacts to bring home. Others were pilgrimages to temples. Others were blessings to farms to provide crops to communities. Others were the simple acts of delivering love letters across down.

Each and every adventure, small or large, inspired by High Hopes.

Inspired by gods.

Deities.

Blessed by the divine.

Would High Hopes ever know about how far their influence reached? Would they ever see how much they inspired communities across the entire country?

Maybe. Maybe not.

But everyone that claimed knowledge and love for the group all agreed on one thing: that High Hopes were not dead, as the manuscripts made them sound. Everyone believed that the group of gods was still out there somewhere, fucking and fucking up, inspiring more adventures and saving more lives. Everyone agreed that gods couldn’t die if they were immortal.

And High Hopes were immortal in the hearts of many. There was not changing that now.

No matter what happened to them now, even if they met an untimely demise in one of the dungeons they happened to crawl into, their names would remain on the lips of millions. Each adventure done in their name would be a testament to their work. Each cat saved, each warlord seduced, each new offering left at a temple, each gold bullion found and gathered would keep them alive for hundreds of years to come.

And maybe a hundred years after.

No one knew the true extent of High Hopes reach, but that didn’t matter so much. All that did was that they _had_ influence people and that they had sparked a change in the country. A change for the better. A change for progress.

People sang and people danced. Journeys were made and festivals thrown. Parties and galas and sometimes something as simple as a friendly get together at a local tavern, drinks shared as easily as words--all of it towards something new even if it wasn’t pledged directly in the name of High Hopes.

There was no denying the change.

There was no denying that gods fucked.

It’s simple and funny like that.

Everyone knew about High Hopes and their adventures. But there was always more to come, always more tales to hear and to tell and to pass on. The original manuscripts were found, yes, but since High Hopes were still very much alive and still very much having adventures, there were new stories to tell.  Always more stories.

And that’s what this is.

Just a collection of stories.

Nothing more.

How accurate are they?

After being passed mouth to mouth over a hundred people how accurate is any story? But does it really matter? No matter how often the words change, the inspiration continues to stick it seems. It is the inspiration that matters. Alright, and sometimes truth.

But what is truth to gods?

And where are gods to more gods?

When hundreds of people do good in your name, by your inspiration, by your stories—when hundreds of people begin adventures of their own, what are gods to that sort of positivity? They are not much, to be honest.

And maybe that’s why High Hopes are gods . . . but not _really_ gods.

Gods fuck and fucked up and they love and they get angry and get sad and mourn and do so many things that are human that maybe that’s all they are in the end. Gods aren’t untouchable. Gods don’t always deserve undying devotion and monetary or blood sacrifice. Gods aren’t perfect, but god-like are inspiring and motivating and so lovable.

Maybe that’s why so many cling to High Hopes. Maybe that’s what marks them as so special.

Maybe it is nothing but chance.

Maybe it is something more.

Who knows? It happened. A snowball of influence started when the manuscripts were found and there wasn’t much one could do to stop it once it starts. Maybe it wasn’t intended to be stopped. Ever. Maybe it was meant to continue on and pick up more and more momentum until it was just good compounding upon good, same sparking the creation of same, and every action setting off a like reaction until the manuscripts were just a vacant memory, forgotten in the wake of adventure and kind deeds and courage to do daring actions.

And while the good had already began to compound in on itself, the manuscripts are far from being forgotten.

Not just yet.

Not so soon.

High Hopes’ stories are far from over. They’ve barely just begun. Why forget a story when its creation has yet to happen? High Hopes are still alive. They are still out there. They are still a wild force all their own, existing outside the good they cause. Chaotic, maybe, but still powerful in their own right.

It would be rude to just ignore everything they’ve done.

And that’s why this exists.

A not so accurate collection of stories of the High Hopes’ adventures. A tribute to them and the good they have started. Perhaps completely inaccurate. But what second-hand stories are ever accurate?

 


	2. The Three Legged Beast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I . . . I wrote this chapter at 1 in the morning and have no idea what happened. It makes me laugh though so it's going up. 
> 
> I think this is an excerpt from Ava's book and it is totally how everyone in the party acts, obviously

High Hopes entered the dungeon with the confidence of a white man entering an Ivy League College.

If any of them knew what Ivy League College was. Stuff like that just didn’t exist. So how would they know about it? They couldn’t. So it was probably more accurate to say that they entered the dungeon with the confidence of a level seven bard entering a brothel with a Free Orgy Friday.

They only vaguely knew what they would be encountering. The flier they had found at the tavern detailing the job . . . oddly didn’t have that many details. All they had noticed was the huge number listed at the bottom that was the amount of gold they would receive if they completed the mission and that was all they really needed to know.

High Hopes had dove into the murky, grimy depths of the tunnels where the big bad monster was supposed to live with their weapons and spells blazing without a second thought otherwise.

“Wow, I’m so sexy and mysterious,” Malark said as he snuck ahead of the group to check for booby traps. “I can’t believe I have such a big penis and I’m _so good_ at staying hidden in the shadows.”

“If I wasn’t currently carrying this entire team,” Paddy said, back with the group and currently grouchy that he couldn’t be near Malark. “I would be riding the only werebear in this group. Bottom rights, baby!”  

“Sshh!” Hashaan said, leading the way. “We have to take the creature by surprise! Or else we’ll get our asses eaten.”

“I wish _I_ was getting my ass eaten,” Gimgar said, hefting her ax onto her shoulder as she took the spot directly behind Nagar. “If you know what I mean.”

“I think we all know what you mean,” Brio said, picking out the background music for their adventure on her small viola. “We all know exactly what you mean.”

The party worked together well. They were all close friends, some closer than others and some further apart than others. It didn’t really matter. A party that adventured together, stayed together. If that was the only law left at the end of time, the High Hopes would be together until death. And even then, they would probably be together in whatever came after death too.

They adventured together _hard_.

“Hngh, Hashaan,” Nagar said, popping out from behind the stalactites he had been trying to hide behind. “I’m trying to sneak ahead, but I’m dummy thicc, and the clap of my ass cheeks keeps alerting the minions.”

“I’ve got this!” Mina said, jumping to the front of the group. “Stand back!”

With a single flip of her hair, she demolished the entire horde of evil minions, saving the entire party from certain doom. Once she was sure that all the minions of the dungeon were successfully taken care of, she stepped back and propped her hands on her hips, wiping away the single bead of sweat that had formed on her forehead during the ordeal.

“Wow, Mina!”  Terra said. “I can’t believe you’re the strongest one on this team!”

Gimgar flexed her amazing muscles. “I wouldn’t say the strongest."

Just then, they reached a huge chamber that held multiple treasure chests, mounds of gold and jewels, and perhaps the grimmest of all, piles of bones and rotting flesh that were too large to be comfortable with. Mina had defeated all of the minions of the dungeon, but there was still one enemy sitting at the end of the chamber.

The creature that the party had been hired to kill. The creature that had been killing to local animals and herds. The creature that was now staring at them with a grin that stretched across its entire face and showed off fangs that were very sharp and very dangerous.

“Oh no!” Malark said, appearing behind Paddy and grabbing the elf in a hug that was way too tight to just be platonic. “I can’t believe I didn’t spot the dragon-born werewolf even though my dick is huge and my stealth checks are on point!”

“It’s okay,” Paddy said, hugging him back with very little subtlety. “You’re my very best friend, Malark, and I could never see us being anything more than best friends!”

“Stand back, guys!” Gimgar said, hefting her ax and already getting ready to charge the animal sitting atop the biggest pile of gold. She flexed her amazing muscles. “Me and Nagar totally got this!”

The huge beast, obviously looking like a cross between a dragon and a gigantic wolf, roared at them from where it stood. Its huge fangs dripped with slobber, and while its armored tail thrashed back and forth, High Hopes were going to collectively agree that it probably wasn’t the dog-half of the creature wagging it in happiness. The beast looked anything but happy. In fact, the party would go as far to say that the beast looked angry that they had invaded its den.

It stood upright on three appendages. Two of them were clearly the creature’s back legs.

Ryce stepped up, already unbuttoning both his shirt and pants.

“Don’t worry, guys,” he said. “I’ve _totally_ got this.”

“Are you kidding?” Nagar said. “Gimgar and I got this!”

“Nagar, throw me into its mouth!” Gimgar said, flexing.

“I’ll give you guys support,” Gwing said from near the back of the party. “And if anyone needs condoms, I’ve totally got you covered.”

“Paddy and I definitely don’t,” Malark said, still clinging onto the elf and even going so far as to bury his face in Paddy’s chest. “We’re best friends and we’ll stay that way forever. Of course I don’t have feelings for him. Everyone, shut up!”

“We need to focus,” Mina said, stepping up next to Gimgar. “We need to work as a team or else this thing will take us down.”

“Tell me about it,” Rook said, totally not watching Ryce continuing to undress to carry out his plan of seducing the beast. “I’ll use my magic to distract it. Gimgar and Nagar, you two can take it down through brute force.”

“And what about the rest of us?” Terra asked, sitting sweetly on a nearby rock outcropping and already hosting a tea party for the local bats in the area.

“You all can stand back,” Hashaan said. “Because _I’ve_ got this covered.”

“I’ve got _nothing_ covered!” Ryce said, shucking off his last sock and running towards the creature full sprint. “Don’t you worry! I’ve got good charisma!”

Hashaan rolled her eyes but decided to let the bard do what he did best. “Okay,” she said, turning back to the group. “Who’s going to rescue him when he totally gets his ass kicked?”

“Obviously I’m the best support,” Mina said.

“But I’ve got the best muscles,” Gimgar said, flexing.

Nagar shook his head. “I’m the only one who can smother it to death with my—”

“If you say anything but your big, muscular arms, I’m not going to bake cookies for everyone when we reach the next inn,” Terra said.

“That’s not fair!” Mina said. “I love your cookies!”

“I guess it’s decided,” Gimgar said. “I’ll rush the monster to take him out. Nagar will be right behind me in case anything happens.”

“Hi-yah!” Gwing yelled, firing an arrow with a string of condoms tied to the wooden shaft at the beast. “Look sharp, everyone, or we’ll totally miss out on the prize gold that we’ll be paid for this creature’s head!”

Which was true. They only got paid if they brought the beast’s head back to the tavern and presented it to the person who had put up the flier. It was just a little insurance so that people couldn’t just scam the town out of its gold. Instead, any interested adventures had to actually work for their paycheck.

Ryce, however, must’ve been thinking the flier had been talking about a different type of head.

“Nagar! Throw me already!” Gimgar said.

Nagar grabbed dwarf and chucked her at the beast by her command, launching her faster than any arrow could fly and getting her to the fight a lot more efficiently than any sprint action. She already had her ax ready and even though Ryce was clearly in the middle of doing his job, she cleaved through the creature in a way that only she could.

She flexed.

“Hey!” Ryce said, covered in blood and gore. He would need the longest fucking bath to get it out of all the places it had gotten. “I was in the middle of handling that.”

Gimgar was too busy hacking up the monster to make sure it wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon. Which was making an even bigger mess than the one she had already made.

“You were in the middle of _doing_ that,” Hashaan said. “Don’t even try to say otherwise.”

“How legal is it to spend blood money?” Mina said, already dragging armfuls of the gold and jewels into her bag of holding. “If we wash it, is it safe? Is it safe to launder money?”

“Make sure to get its head,” Terra said, clinking her tea cup with a very polite gentleman bat. “Because that’s what we’re getting paid for.”

“Don’t worry,” Gimgar said. “I’ve totally got it.” She flexed and cut the head of the dragon-born werewolf. She sheathed her ax on her back and picked it up, one hand grabbing a horn and the other grabbing an ear. She held it away from herself as it finished leaking blood and brains. “This is kind of gross.”

“Do you know what’s _not_ gross?” Malark said. “Being _best friends_ with Paddy. Golly gosh, I hope this never changes.”

“Totally,” Paddy said, platonically French kissing Malark. Somehow doing it through the assassin’s mask. “I love you in a totally friend-like way.”

“I wish I had gotten a chance to use magic,” Rook complained, sauntering up to Gwing and slinging an arm around her shoulder. “I couldn’t have totally taken care of it all by myself.”

“I know you could’ve,” Gwing said, dropping her bow and arrow and sweeping him off his feet. “You’re so big and strong and I’m so glad we’re totally the most legit couple of this party.”

Hashaan rolled her eyes and vowed that she would protect this entire team with her life. None of them would die as long as she was taking care of them.

“We did so good, you guys!” Terra cheered, finishing off the last of her tea and bidding the bats a good day. “We barely took any damage!”

“ _Some_ of us didn’t take that much damage,” Ryce said, crossing his arms over his bloody chest.

“Dude,” Brio said, strumming out a totally wicked guitar riff. “Put your pants back on before you poke someone’s eye out.”

“Hey, do you think you’ll ever write an official album for out adventures?” Mina asked, finishing scooping up the last of the gold and shouldering the bag. She shrugged when she got an odd look from Nagar. “What? It’s like a tip on top of our paycheck. It’ll be fine. No one was going to double check if the monster had any gold.”

Nagar couldn’t question that logic. He had rolled low on his intelligence check.

“I think I will,” Brio said, strumming out a couple experimental chords. “It could go along with Ava’s book.”

“Speaking of the absolute best person of this entire party,” Gwing said, pinning Rook against the cave wall. “I’d like to make a toast to Ava, because we would be totally lost without her and totally dead because the first minions in the first dungeon we ever went into would totally kill us.”  

“I totally agree, babe,” Rook said, hooking his legs around her waist. “I totally love you, and Ava is the most powerful person and totally invaluable to High Hopes. I never should make fun of her for drinking so much because she completely deserves it for putting up with the rest of us.”  

“In fact,” Mina said. “We should give her all this gold so that she can go out drinking.”

“Ava is so pretty and beautiful and is one hundred percent sexier than me,” Ryce said.

“And we’re one hundred percent platonic bros!” Paddy said, his hand now down Malark’s pants. “He sleeps in my bed because I sometimes get nightmares.”

“That is also one hundred percent true,” Malark said. “Gwing, we will totally _not_ be needing any condoms later tonight because we are such good friends.”

Gwing nodded and threw her beautiful teal hair over her shoulder, seconds from taking off Rook’s clothes. “I understand,” she said, pausing with her totally legit boyfriend to take a fistful of condoms out of her pocket. “I’ll just leave these here then and anyone can use them if they want.” She threw them into the air, and they scattered through the entire dungeon.

 "Safe sex!" Rook cheered.

“We _obviously_ won’t need them,” Malark said, scooping a dozen them into his pockets. “But thanks for offering anyway, Gwing.”

“Let’s go back to the tavern, everyone,” Terra said. “We can get paid and have a peaceful night’s sleep.”

Gimgar passed the huge head of the dragon-born werewolf off to Nagar, and he slung the entire bloody mess over his shoulder. “Radical,” she said. “And of course we’ll get some sleep. I can’t think of anyone who would have anything better to do than sleep after such a hard battle.”

She looked over at Gwing and Rook and Malark and Paddy.

“Absolutely nothing better to do,” she said again.

“I _had_ better things to do,” Ryce said. He had put his socks and shows back on but nothing else. Somehow, that made everything worse. “Until someone killed it off.” He looked pointedly at Gimgar.

She flexed.

And then dabbed on him.

And then the whole party went back to the tavern and got a good night’s sleep, just like Gimgar said they would.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did I mention I don't play dnd? all of these stat checks and terminology might be completely wrong and I wouldn't know at all 
> 
> (also, I hope I remembered all the characters, I'm not used to writing so many people in one scene)

**Author's Note:**

> If the party does see this, I hope you know the reaction of good that you started ^-^ you are amazing and nothing I write will do you justice
> 
> for anyone else: you can find me @manuscript-or on Tumblr until the next update


End file.
